City of Grace
by feisty.red.head
Summary: 10 years after Valentine is destroyed, Jace and Clary are living the perfect life. But when mysterious dreams threaten the life of their unborn child, things begin to change. Will they find the culprit? Or will it find them?
1. Perfection

**Don't own. The wonderful Cassandra Clare knows that. =]**

If there was one thing that Clary Fray knew about Jace Wayland, it was that he was an insufferable bastard with absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever. This was the thought that was at the foremost of her brain as she threw a ceramic bowl she had made--she would regret this later, it was one of her favorites--directly at the spot between his shoulder blades.

Damn him and his inhuman speed. His head automatically ducked. He wasn't even facing her, and somehow he managed to _know_ that she wished to decapitate him with eatery. It smashed into the wall with a satisfyingly loud clatter, leaving an indent, and traces of white, powdery substance on the wall. He turned slowly, his eyebrows raised so high into his forehead that they were disappearing into his angelic blonde curls.

"If this is your idea of foreplay, then -." But his sarcastic comment was cut off by a plate that was aimed this time, at this face. He caught this one, his face a mask of surprise and amusement.

"-I think we should designate a safety word." He said, a small smile playing around his lips. She made a sound halfway between choking and screaming, suddenly she was not satisfied with throwing things at him. Her hands she decided, it must be her hands. Wrapped directly around his neck, preferably. They faced each other, on opposite sides of the table, her hands clutching the top of the chair in front of her, imagining that they were choking the life out of him.

He looked surprisingly calm for someone who was about to die, Clary couldn't help but think. He was facing her directly, his hands casually in his pants, the picture of ease. He was in his gear, a few scrapes along his right hand, a little dirty, but otherwise unharmed. He looked relaxed, but she could detect the slight tension in his shoulders, a telltale sign that he was worried.

"You did it again." She hissed, her eyes narrowed dangerously. "_AGAIN!_" She yelled, chucking a spoon at him. He didn't duck or catch it this time, simply let it bounce off of his chest with a dull thunk.

"Clary." He said, in an irritatingly serene voice, "just let me ex-"

"You are damn lucky that I'm not wearing my gear right now, or Raziel himself couldn't help you." She said venomously, shifting a little to the left, because he looked like he was about to make a run for it. _Oh no you don't _she thought, _I'm not done with you yet. _

"Ok," he said, looking defeated. "I'm sorry." That's right he was sorry.

"You deliberately left, hunted down that demon, and killed him without even letting me know!" She said, crossing her arms, some of her anger fading into hurt. Was this what it was going to be like? She was to be cast into the background, only fit for domestic activities. No. She refused, thinking of her mother and Maryse. They weren't cast off, they fought for their right to keep their Shadowhunter status.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, his tone soft. His face was repentant, but his eyes were filled with mirth. Not helping. "I just don't want you taking any unnecessary risks, right now, that's all." He said, making his way around the table, towards Clary. He was facing her, but didn't reach out to touch her. "I've got too much to loose." Now he touched her, stroking her face from her temple to her jaw, gently as if he was stroking the feathers of a delicate bird. "Please forgive me." He murmured, cupping her face. She leaned into his touch, her anger completely dissolving into a sort of irritated contentment.

"I'm not even showing yet." She said sounding only slightly petulant. She felt his warm sigh of relief wash over her face in a puff of sweetness. Actually there was nothing about it that was sweet. He smelled like metal and sweat and Ichor, but still like Jace. Her sweet, warm, loving Jace.

"Actually, you are a little." He said, unable to keep the glee from his voice. He placed his other hand on the slightly bulged part of her lower stomach. _What did he just say?_

"Did you just call me fat?" Clary demanded, leaping away from his touch. She was angry again. Jace sighed, ready to diffuse the next time bomb.

"No, of course not. You're being hormonal." He said, instantly regretting it. _Uh-oh. _He thought, watching her eyes widen angrily.

"OH JUST SAY IT JACE!" She exploded, making Jace take a quick step back. "You think I'm fat and hormonal, and completely undesirable, not to mention the fact that you wont even let me help take out a stupid Drevak demon."

Boom.

Jace's jaw clenched, her mood swings were getting worse, no matter how adamantly she denied it. "Clary," he said calmly. "You're not fat, you're pregnant."

"I-…" She didn't have a reply to that. He was right. But she was not being hormonal. Ok, maybe a little. Her eyes drifted to the broken pieces of the bowl. Maybe a lot. She bit her lip, instantly embarrassed, and looked at her shoes. Or tried to anyway, some of them were blocked by her protruding stomach. He was right, she was being terrible. But she couldn't help it, she didn't even feel like herself anymore, all of a sudden she was out of control angry, and then the next second she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry." She said with a sigh. "You're right, I'm in no condition to fight." She said grudgingly. He was instantly there, drawing her to him, and laughing slightly into her hair. She closed her eyes, and felt how much he loved her, the way his arms always wrapped protectively around her, the way his hand searched for hers constantly. The way he gently pressed his perfect lips on her own. As if he was reading her mind, she felt his fingertips under her chin, gently coaxing her face towards him.

"You have nothing to be sorry about." He murmured. "You've got our baby in there. I think I can handle a little yelling."

"A little?" she said incredulously. "I probably looked like I was about to attack Tokyo." Clary smiled slightly, as Jace shook with silent laughter.

"Well it wasn't as bad as all that…more like an angry nixie." He said, placing a delicate kiss on her lips. He had been so careful since she had told him about the pregnancy, like he could break her with a simple touch. They were quiet for a moment, peaceful. It was like this a lot lately (except for the occasional shouting), but both of them treasured every moment.

"About that safety word…." Jace said, trailing his fingertips along the line of her jaw. "I was thinking something along the lines of Godzilla."

"How appropriate," Clary said dryly, rolling her eyes. But her attempts at sarcasm were effectively cut off by his lips on her neck. She could feel the curve of his lips as he smiled.

"After all, " he said with a little chuckle "you are my little monster."

**A/N: **This is the first time I've written for TMI. Hope I did the fabulous Jace justice.

Reviews?


	2. Dreams

**A/N: **So, much to my surprise people _want _me to continue this. The one shot was cute, but it was lacking something essential. Like, I don't know, a plot. Once I created a plot soup, added some seasonings, and a hearty pinch of Jace, I came up with this. It's….much darker then I had intended, but for some reason all my stories end up that way. Oh well.

This plot soup is black, like my soul.

Hope you like!

* * *

"Dreams are like stars…you may never touch them, but they will lead you to your destiny."

-Anonymous

* * *

The pulse of the music was throbbing in her chest as she moved her way through the crowd. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and perfume, making it difficult to breathe. The crowd seemed to move as one, swaying and bending, their faces were alive and excited, almost glowing. The large room was hazy, filled with smoke from the machines, the strobe lights pulsated, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the Mundanes. Clary could feel a warm breeze from the industrial strength fan caress the back of her damp neck. Her skin was sticky with sweat, and the slight breeze was a relief. Her mind was unusually hazy, but not in an unpleasant way. She felt as if she wanted to stay here, forever, gently swaying with the music.

It seemed a regular night at Pandemonium.

Someone to her left--an unusually pale boy wearing a mesh wife beater and a dog collar--bumped her in the stomach. Something in her stirred, and she snapped out of her drug like trance, instantly panicked. _Oh god, the baby._ Her hands flew to her belly--and found it as flat as it had been when she was 16. Her brows furrowed, as she pulled up her shirt, exposing her pale, lightly freckled stomach. Flat-perfectly, flat. Absolutely no trace that she was pregnant whatsoever. She could feel the heavy weight of the fog in her head threatening to pull her down again, she fought against it this time, but it was overpowering.

She looked up, as if someone around her would explain what had happened, but was startled to see that the club was empty. Vacant. The sight of it was eerie, as if the life had been sucked out of it, and all that was left was the crumbling shell. She whipped around, looking for something--anything that would explain what the hell was going on. Her heart thudded in her chest, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that the temperature had dropped considerably. Her breath appeared in front of her in white, panicked puffs.

But there was no one, nothing. Only the music and the pulsing lights surrounded her.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. And she found her hand automatically drifting to where weapons belt would be. Surprisingly, her fingers found purchase, and wrapped around the end of a dagger. She expertly twirled it in her hands, feeling slightly more comfortable. At least she had a chance to defend herself from…well whatever the hell was going on here.

"Clary." Her head snapped up, and a feeling of relief washed over her. She _knew _that voice, it was as familiar to her as her own. Jace was here, everything was going to be alright.

"Jace" She breathed, taking a step towards him "wha-what's going on here?" But something was wrong with him, his face was tight--tormented. A look she hadn't seen on it in many years. His eyes were panicked, and wild, darting back and forth. He was…_frightened._ It took a lot to frighten a man like Jace. Jace who was practically indestructible. Jace who had faced hordes of Demons. Who had slaughtered several dozen Forsaken with a pocketknife and his wit. He had nothing to fear. So what the hell was going on?

"Clary." He repeated, his voice was strangled. Clary swallowed compulsively, her grip tightening on the dagger. She could feel the cold metal of the hilt digging into her skin.

"The baby, Jace…I-I don't know what's going on." She said trying to keep her voice steady, but failing. It was difficult to speak coherently, had she been drugged?

"I'm so sorry, Clary. I'm so sorry." He said, taking several quick steps toward her. She wasn't exactly sure why, but she found herself taking as many steps back. Something about his frantic look was scaring her. His shoulders were stiff, and she could see the edges of his runes poking out from the collar of his black shirt. He was dressed in the soft black leather Shadowhunter attire, but was wearing no weapons. Not even his wrist cuffs…which drew her attention to his hands.

"Your hands, Jace…." She trailed off, her eyes locked on his strong hands, which were covered in some sort of shiny black fluid, that was leaving a dripping trail along the floor. The strobe lights were disorienting, he was there and then he was cast into shadow, completely invisible. She couldn't take her eyes off of his hands, the fluid was all the way up to his wrists, looking like shiny black gloves. _Ichor…_she thought for a moment. But no, it wasn't thick enough…God her brain was foggy. The more she looked--or stared--at it the more familiar the substance became. The way it dripped off of his fingertips and landed in large, almost audible splats on the floor. With a small gasp of horror she realized what it was.

_Blood._

"Jac-" She started.

"I'm so sorry." He interrupted. "I had to do it. It was going to hurt you." he spoke quickly, his words melting into one another. His eyes still held the frantic look, but he wasn't holding her gaze, he was staring directly at her stomach. The way he had said 'it' was furious sounding, feral almost. Clary's chest was heaving, each breath an effort, the room was so cold, each inhale stabbed at her lungs with an icy knife. Why was her mind so fuzzy? It was like she was lost in a fog storm, she couldn't decide if she was more frustrated at herself, or scared of--no, _for_ Jace.

"What was going to hurt me?" She asked, shaking her head slowly, as if to clear it. swallowed.

"The baby."

The baby? Automatically, she put her hand to her stomach, but it was wet-covered in warm, slick fluid. She looked down slowly, pulling her hand away. The front of her white shirt was drenched in blood. She could feel bile rise up in her throat. Why was she covered in her own blood? "I'm sorry." Jace repeated. Clary's eyes widened in horror as she finally made the connection. Jace's blood-soaked hands, were dripping with her blood. Her baby….what had he done to her baby?

A scream exploded from her mouth.

***

"Clary, Jesus--wake up!" Jace said, shaking her forcefully. He had been dead asleep when he noticed her writhing and trying to kick him in her sleep. And then she started screaming. If he wasn't so concerned, he would have been irritated. He never remembered her having nightmares before--well all Shadowhunters had nightmares, but none that were this--_forceful. _

For being so small she packed quite a kick. A stream of profanities came coursing out of his mouth as he clutched his shin. "Clar-ow, shit. Clary, honey, wake up." Her eyes snapped open, and he noticed that her eyes were brimming with tears, his throbbing shin was forgotten. Before he could react, she had thrown the covers off of her and her hands clutched at her belly. She sighed, looking relieved.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his forehead furrowed in concern. He gently put his hand on her arm, and noticed that she winced when he touched her. He reluctantly drew his hand back, feeling slightly hurt that she flinched away from his touch. She sighed again, and ran her hands through her hair distractedly. A habit she had picked up from him over the years.

"I-" She didn't finish her sentence. She had her face buried in her small hands. Her shoulders were rapidly rising and falling. "I don't know." She said finally, sounding out of breath. Jace was slightly relieved to hear her talking.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He asked gently, trying not to press her. His fingers twitched, aching to touch her, but he held back, not knowing if it would help his wife to do so.

She nodded.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" He asked, slightly curious as to what would frighten her so. She licked her lips, and sighed again.

"A demon attacked me." She said finally. "It was nothing."

"Nothing?" He asked incredulously. "I think you fractured my tibia. That most certainly was not nothing." She shook her head stubbornly, looking him directly in the eyes. A chill went through him, she wasn't looking at him like she usually did. It was like she was…calculating him in some way. As if she was debating something, weighing him in the balance.

"It was nothing." She repeated. And the look was gone, he wasn't even sure if he had seen it. Another sigh. "Really." Her eyes were soft again, loving. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kick you." She said, holding out her arms so she could inspect him. He gently took her hands in his.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, pulling her toward him. This time she came to him, and Jace felt a wave of relief. The pang of fear was gone, replaced by one of curiosity. _What was she dreaming about?_

Clary settled herself into his strong arms, resting her head against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was a lullaby, settling her. "I'm fine." She lied, glad her face was turned away from his, so that she couldn't see the look of concern in her eyes. "Honestly."

* * *

**A/N: **I think that I need to go back and maybe revise my first chapter to fit this story. Don't worry, I won't change too much.

Also I need a new name for this story, I think.

Also a new summary.

Also, review?


	3. Stasis

**Nope. Not Mine. Cassandra Clare's. Big surprise there. =]**

* * *

Being undead, for lack of a better word, sucks. This was a subject that Simon Lewis frequently perused when he walked the familiar streets of New York City during the light hours. Not that he was afraid to go out at night, he just really didn't like taking the risk of running into a certain coven that were insanely jealous of his striking good looks and wit. Well, maybe more the mark on his forehead, but whatever.

He didn't especially like being out at night, when the really "scary" things came out to play. Simon snorted, drawing the attention of an elderly woman, holding a Pomeranian in a red doggie sweater. He was sitting on a bench in a particularly sunny patch in the park. He perpetually picked out the sunny parts wherever he went, soaking up the warmth on his frigid skin like it would be the last time he would get to do it. The sun was starting to set now, he noticed regretfully.

Things that preferred to dwell in the dark. Prostitutes. Murderers. Rapists. He would listen in on conversations about how the community was going downhill. How it was no longer safe for your kids to play on the streets. _Like they ever were, mundanes. _

Simon chuckled slightly, the same women who were afraid to be out after dark, would smile and wave politely if he initiated. They had no idea the most dangerous thing to them was the polite 16 year old who was watching them drink their coffee, lusting after their blood. Actually, the crime rate was declining, but at such a slow rate that no one really noticed.

This was partly due to the once-Jewish, sort of dead, eternally damned Simon.

Cast out by the human race, and branded a freak by his own kind, Simon found himself a walking cliché. Being perpetually 16 wasn't as great as it sounded. Sure, his skin was perfect, and he was able to lift the couch and vacuum under it at the same time--but what good was that when you had no one to share it with? When you couldn't say hello to your mother in person because you hadn't aged in 10 years. So he slept during the day sometimes --he found he needed less sleep then he did as a human-- and hunted small game at night. He wore a lot of black, and had one moment of crazed weakness a few years back when he toyed with buying eyeliner.

That was a particularly dark month, he recalled with a shudder.

He was, completely and utterly on his own. A thing he hadn't really experienced before _It_ had happened to him.

Loneliness was his closest friend--ok not _that_ was cliché, he thought bitterly. It hadn't worked out with Maia--the fact that she was aging and he wasn't was putting a damper on their relationship to say the least. They tried to make it work, but there were too many differences between them, plus the fact that he kept finding stray wolf hairs attached to his sweater when he left her house really freaked him out.

And Isabelle….well. He had given up on that a long time ago. She was too smart, too beautiful, to brave, too perfect for him anyways. Who wanted someone like that? Nope, not him, that was for sure. Apparently unrequited love was his thing, so that sucked.

And then there was Clary. Oh, Clary. She was married, and pregnant. He found himself slowly pulling away from her, the closer she got to Jace. It was only natural, she was moving on with her life, getting married, having children, moving on. He could even stand Jace for small amounts at a time. So he lost his best friend too. Simon saw her on occasion, it was always awkward, at least to him it was. Is there anything this selfish disease wouldn't take from him?

He frowned, slouching further down on the bench, shoving his hands into his pockets angrily.

But, he couldn't be completely Emo about everything. _Some_ good things had come from this too. About seven years ago, in a stroke of extreme universal irony, he had made an unconscious decision to become a vigilante. One night he was strolling--ok more like skulking, it's a vampire thing--through Central Park when he came across two gang members mugging an Arab man wearing an expensive Italian suit.

One of the gang members--who happened to be wearing pants so low that he didn't need to worry about pulling them down to pee--was repeatedly punching the poor victim in the stomach. The man was doubled over in pain gasping for air, trying to say something, one hand waving in the air like a flag of surrender. Simon dodged behind a tree, so they wouldn't see him. And then he realized that he had faced a full army of royally pissed off demons, so two gang members were probably no match for him. Probably. He exhaled, nervously. Why was he panicking? _He_ was the superior species here. What with the whole inhuman speed and strength thing. Right? Right? Right.

He planned on saying something terribly clever, but was surprised to see that while he was busy stroking his ego, the muggers had proceeded to pull a gun on the victim. At the moment one of the assailants was expertly flailing the weapon around, looking much like he had massive fire ants in the arm of his extra large Yankees jacket. He dropped the gun. Twice.

Simon and the victim were definitely on the winning side of the gene pool here.

Also, the other attacker was saying the word "bitch" a lot.

"Bitch, gimmie your wallet!" The one who was being even less useless then his friend growled, looking around shiftily. He kicked the well dressed man on the ground for emphasis. A long trail of blood and spit dripped out of the mans mouth.

And before Simon knew what was happening, his teeth had unsheathed, he had quite literally jumped the gang members from behind. They waddled away, looking like penguins running from a tuxedo factory. His bottom lip was stinging from his fangs, drawing blood. His stomach lurched, eager for more. He ignored the fire in this throat, and turned to the man that they had been trying to rob. "Hey, are you alright?" Simon asked, offering him a cold hand to help him up. The man's eyes went wide with terror.

Apparently he found his voice, because he screamed. _Really loudly. _

Simon raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well that was completely unnecessary" Simon said feeling slightly put off. "A simple 'thank you' or 'marry my eldest daughter, Most High' would have sufficed."

But no, nothing, not even a grunt of approval. Surprisingly, that didn't bother Simon as much as he thought it would. Seeing those moron wannabe thugs run away like they were wearing gasoline soaked pajamas, and he was holding a match wasn't even what made him feel good.

It was that he had saved someone.

Simon. One of the Night Children. Go figure.

He was pretty badass after all. A small, proud grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He carefully extended his hand, trying not to frighten the poor man. His throat burned with thirst, making it difficult to concentrate. His hand shook slightly.

The man did not accept his hand. Instead, he scrambled away from him, crawling backwards. If Simon hadn't been so confused by his actions, he would have laughed. "What are you..?" he started, but felt the sharp pain of his needle like fangs on his lip. Oh. Whoops. The man's eyes were wide with terror. Simon sighed, and turned to leave. So he had to work on hiding his fangs, or keeping them sheathed when he was angry. That he could do.

And he did, his control was far better now then it once was. He felt less wild, and unpredictable, well sometimes. It was late at night again, he had lost track of how long he was sitting at the park. Simon was walking, with no destination in mind. Not even paying attention to where he was going, he found himself on the familiar path to Hotel Dumort. He often ended up wandering the streets in this area, he couldn't help it, something about this place drew him to it. It was instinct, like a homing pigeon returning to its owner. Not that anyone owned him, and even if they did it would _certainly _not be Raphael. He felt a small growl build in his chest, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard, thinking he could blame it on a crazy stray cat if they did.

He doubled back, walking as quickly as he could, without drawing attention to himself. But, he was too late.

"Hello Dayligher." Said a young, accented voice.

_Damn. _Simon thought, fighting the urge to growl again. He turned around slowly, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

"Hello, Raphael." He said politely. And because he was a little bit of a jackass, he couldn't help but add "Miss me?"

Raphael smiled coldly."You have no idea." He said his tone matching his smile. Simon felt the instinctual unsheathing of his fangs, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He felt movement behind him, and without seeing anything, he knew he was surrounded by Raphael's minions. Simon suppressed a scoff. _Minions. _The boy had minions. Raphael didn't even have pubic hair yet, and he had freaking minions. Where was the justice? He wasn't smiling the unnervingly cold smile anymore.

"Well, you have me." Simon said holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I guess I'm in trouble now." His voice was surprisingly steady, surprising even himself.

"Yes, _amigo_." The smile was back. "Yes you are."

Simon sighed. Being a vampire really sucked.

***

"So what do you think of Maurice?" Clary said, peering up at Jace over her book. "I think Maurice is nice." She watched his expression carefully as he pretended to like it. He nodded slowly looking like he had just eaten a lemon, but in a cute way. She knew he would hate it, which was precisely why she said it aloud. It tickled her to torture him like that. They were sitting on their old red couch, Clary's feet in his lap, on opposite ends of the couch, like bookends. Only one was very manly, and one very pregnant. Both of them were absorbed in gigantic Baby Names books.

He was still nodding absently, apparently at a loss for something to say. But his horrified expression had frozen in place. "Maurice?" He asked, pursing his lips slightly.

"Yep." Clary responded, popping the 'p' biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"You're screwing with me aren't you?" He asked, half smiling, half hopeful.

"Yep." She popped the 'p' again, and laughed gently. He laughed too, his laugh was musical, and perfect. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It was quite a sight to see such an Alpha Man reading "The Big book of Baby Names," like it was a weapons manual. He was so involved with every detail of the birthing process. He spoke to her swollen belly at night, telling the baby stories, singing to it. He had gleefully gone out on the midnight runs for pistachio ice cream and pickles. He'd baby proofed the apartment covering ever corner in some sort of padding--it looked like an amusement park for the handicapped. There were covers crammed in all the electrical sockets. All the cleaning fluids had been perched up so high, Clary couldn't reach them. She had her suspicions that he had been done more by design then accident, he of course adamantly denied it, mumbling something about 'damn childproof caps.' He was the perfect overprotective father. Well, soon-to-be father. Of a little boy, nonetheless.

The nightmare was almost forgotten by now. It had been a busy two months since, and Clary had too much to think about and too much to prepare to dwell on a stupid nightmare. She'd even gone to ask Jocelyn about it.

"Well, I'm not really much help in the baby department, seeing as I was being poisoned both times I was pregnant by your sadistic father, but if you want my advice, I think its just a combination of hormones and nerves." She said, pouring Clary a cup of tea. "But again, helpless victim, crazy father." She said, with a small smile. Clary thought that it was good that she was able to joke about it, but could tell that it bothered her more then she led on.

"So I have nothing to worry about?" Clary asked, wanting her to say the words.

"Honey," She said with a sigh, and covered Clary's hand with her own, it was warm and slightly rough from the turpentine and paint. "I think that considering our….past history with fathers and men in general, that it's completely normal for you to be a little paranoid about protecting your own child from Jace." Her grip tightened. "But Jace loves you, and he would never hurt you or your child."

Clary nodded. She knew that. She knew that Jace wouldn't….."I know." Clary said. "But the dream was so vivid…." It _was_ vivid, but it was also just a dream, well nightmare.

And after that conversation, Clary put it behind her. It was just a dream, Jace would never hurt either of them, her mother was right. Absently, Clary put one hand protectively on her stomach.

"What about Maverick?" Jace asked, his face eager, putting down the book, and turning to face her.

"Maverick?" Clary repeated dubiously.

"It's…cool, right?" He said, looking at her happily. "Ma-ver-ick. It's…bold."

"No, it's terrible. He'll grow up to have an addiction to internet porn, and Tom Cruise movies. My baby will _not _grow up to be a complete loser, or liking Tom Cruise movies."

"And an addiction to Tom Cruise movies constitutes being a loser?" He asked, looking slightly hurt. "_I _like Tom Cruise movies." In their years together, Clary had introduced him to the ways of the Mundanes.

She snorted. "Maurice is looking pretty good right about now," Clary said, shaking her head slowly.

"Oh yeah, because _Maurice _doesn't say kick-my-ass?" Jace mumbled, rolling his eyes. "I still like Maverick," he said, sounding a little petulant.

"Yeah, you also like Tom Cruise movies. I rest my case." Clary said, picking up her book again.

"And internet porn." Jace said, chuckling slightly.

Clary's eyes narrowed, and she threw 10,000 names at his head, but she was laughing too. Jace put both of their books on the side table, and leaned over her, putting one hand on her stomach. The other hand he used to keep his weight off her as he hovered over her body. The laughter was gone out of his eyes, Clary noticed, feeling the atmosphere change. She raised a hand to cup his face gently. There was a crease in between his eyebrows, something was wrong.

"What is it?" She asked, her fingertips tracing the lines in his brow. "Tell me."

"I was thinking…and if you don't agree, that's perfectly alright…" He trailed off, looking concerned.

Clary was growing irritated. "For God sake, Jace spit it out already, you're freaking me out." She said, not unkindly. But her heart speed increased, and thudded against her ribcage painfully.

"What about…Maxwell….Max? F-for the baby's name, I mean," He said, almost whispering, looking extremely nervous.

_Maxwell. Max. _

"Its perfect." Clary said softly matching his tone. And it was, she loved it. "Max." She said, loving the sweet way it rolled off her tongue. "Max." she said again, sadly, thinking of the little boy that was murdered so brutally in Idris. She felt a small pang in her heart. The little boy that no one paid attention to, that everyone thought they would have time for later. The one she taught to read Manga. Jace's little brother. "They'll like that." She said looking directly into his sad eyes. "Especially Izzy." Isabelle had taken his death the hardest, because she blamed herself, it still haunted her all these years later.

Jace sighed in relief. "I think so too." He buried his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. "I'm glad you like it. Our little boy, our little Max." His voice sounded strained, and she understood why he had hidden his face in her hair, because he didn't want her to see him looking so distressed. She buried her fingers in his blonde curls, saying nothing.

"Can his middle name be Maverick?" He asked, pulling away, looking into her eyes. He was fine, apperently.

Clary sighed. "Not a freaking chance."

***

"Alec, would you stop fidgeting? You're going to make me whack off an ear, or something." Magnus snapped, carefully snipping the too-long hairs around the back of his neck. They were in Magnus's shabby apartment, when Magnus waved a glittery hand in the air and declared that Alec's hair was much to long for his liking.

"I can't help it, you keep pulling my hair." Alec retorted, flinching at the sound of the metal scissors grinding together around his ears.

"Hmm. I was under the distinct impression that you liked me pulling your hair." Magnus said, smirking slightly.

"Yes, but not when you're holding something pointy near my carotid artery." He said, his voice terse.

"Well you can stop whining now, I'm finished." Magnus said, pressing his blue tinted lips on Alec's pale neck. "Honestly, Alec, I'm five hundred years old, _and _I'm gay. I know how to cut hair."

"You're over eight hundred," Alec corrected. "No need to lie about it. The cat is out of the bag, you know."

"Spoil Sport." Magnus mumbled.

"Cradle Robber." Alec replied, smirking, and wrapping his arms around Magnus's neck. Magnus chuckled, and Alec could feel the vibrations of it rumble in his own chest, making him smile. "But it is kind of sexy." He added, pressing his lips on Magnus's.

"What is? Oh you mean the fact that I'm--seven hundred years older then you, --and therefore _very_ experienced, and --wise." He asked, punctuating his statement with kisses.

"Yes." Alec said, rolling his eyes. "That was exactly what I meant."

"Bah." Magnus said, waving his sparking hand in dismissal. "Why don't you go in the living room, and when I join you, I'll show you exactly how _wise _I am." He said, waggling his eyebrows, comically. Alec snickered.

"Sure, alright." He said, kissing Magnus one last time before leaving the room.

Not paying attention, Magnus waved his hand--yet again--to send the little bits of hair to some obscure salon in Brooklyn. He bent over to pick up the scissors he'd left on the table, but stopped mid-bend.

The hair hadn't moved.

Magnus frowned. Hadn't he sent it away? Yes he had. He was certain of it. It should be being swept up by some poor hairstylist right now. He frowned in confusion, had his magic failed him? That was impossible. Not in his five hund--ok eight hundred years had that happened. Never.

"Magnus, are you going to come in here and woo me with your wisdom?" Alec said sarcastically from the other room.

"Yes, darling." He said absently, still looking at the hair on the floor, feeling concerned.

He pointed to the hair on the floor, and concentrated on it. He hadn't consciously _thought _about doing magic this simple in years.

The hair vanished.

Magnus stood there for another moment looking at the clean spot on the carpet, before turning around and heading toward Alec. He looked over his shoulder, the floor still meticulously clean, and turned out the light.

"Well that was weird." He muttered, making his way to the living room.

The floor was still perfectly clean when he was gone.

* * *

A/N: Oh my Goodness. You have no idea how much time went into that. I got a request to make the chapters a little longer, so I did. Also, notice the new name? Yeah I want to thank Evil Black Poppies for --awesome name btw--for giving me the idea. Also a GINORMUS THANK YOU TO EVERY ONE WHO REVIEWED. Your support means everything. You guys are made of awesome.

I'll update soon, 'kay?

Oh, reviews please?


	4. The Party

**A/N:** So, here's a little present the Easter Bunny left for you guys. It's pretty long, and probably not as delicious as the ham you're snarfing down right now. But I think it's pretty tasty. =] And if you don't celebrate Easter--which I really don't but whatever--....um...Happy Sunday? And if it's not Sunday where you are would you just stop staring at me and read, already?

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Ouch! Mother Fu-that freaking _hurts!_" Simon howled. He knew that he should of stayed away from Hotel Dumort, but apparently he was a complete idiot, and found himself there now, strapped to a chair, while Raphael and his stupid cronies threw little droplets of Holy water on him.

"We just wanted to remind you that you _are_ a creature of the night, Daylighter." Raphael said, in his unnervingly young voice.

"Except for the whole, walking around in the daylight thing--Ouch, stop that!" Simon's chair hopped around in a little circle of pain. Raphael had splashed him again, making his skin smoke. The room smelled like burning flesh. Simon almost wished that someone would look him in the eye, because since he had…um…_arrived_ at the dilapidated hotel, they were all blatantly and unabashedly staring at his Mark. He felt the urge to yell 'hey, I'm down here!' He felt a sudden burst of sympathy towards large-chested girls.

"You have a smart mouth, young one." Raphael said, grinning slightly. "It will only cause you pain."

"Well thanks for the heads up, because I'd hate to end up being strapped to a chair while some sadistic vampire douses me in--oh wait, never mind." Simon retorted, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?" He added, hoping that the sooner he got to the point, the sooner he'd get out of this crypt.

He was in a room that was well furnished, heavy deep maroon drapes hung off the wall. You could tell at one time they had been beautiful, but Simon didn't need his exceptional vampire sight to notice that the heavy drapes were dusty, and beginning to mold. The room was altogether rich looking, with dark wood paneling the parts of the walls, and the doorframe. There was a small window on the east side of the room, boarded up with what seemed an unnecessary amount of two-by-fours and nails. It was also very dusty, Simon suppressed the urge to cough.

Shoved up against the walls were two large, blood red couches, which looked black in the poorly lit room. The couches were crammed with what seemed like a dozen vampires each. All lined up and staring at him with distrust and curiosity. Like pale, undead dominoes ready to topple over if someone sneezed or moved too quickly. A blonde, slender female vampire caught his eye, she wasn't looking at him the way the others were. Her stare was almost sympathetic. He looked away quickly, preferring the looks of contempt.

Someone had tied his hands behind the back of the chair. He couldn't see what they were tied with, but when he strained against them, his wrists bled, and he could hear the sizzling sound the liquid made when it hit the rope of some kind. He could have broken it easily, but it hurt too bad, and besides, he was sure if he _did_ manage to escape his constraints, it would be the last thing he would do, because he would be jumped but about fifty bloodthirsty vampires.

Simon gulped nervously.

Raphael stared at him with a mixture of contempt and curiosity. "Your friend, the red-headed Shadowhunter…" he said trailing off, looking as if he was not sure what he wanted to say next. Simon wasn't fooled, however, nothing Raphael said or did was without extreme calculation.

"If you're looking for a date, I'm pretty sure she's spoken for. Besides, you're not her type." _Oh no. _Simon thought, _what does he want with Clary? _

"Oh, and what is her type?" he asked, raising one eyebrow, although he was clearly not interested. He was baiting him. The bastard.

"Well, _alive_ for starters."

"As _tempting _as that sounds" Simon could clearly note the sarcasm here, "Its not a date I'm interested in."

"_Oh,_" Simon said, nodding his head in mock understanding. "You might need a hooker for that."

Raphael chose to ignore this. "She is with child, is she not?" He asked bluntly. Simon was thrown, whatever he had been expecting--it was not this. He was so shocked, he sputtered.

"I-um, well, I haven't…uh…"

"What's the matter? Clary got your tongue?"

"Go to hell."

Raphael chuckled. "You're already here, Daylighter." He said, with a grand gesture of his hand, as if he was Hades showing Simon his Dark Kingdom.

"I thought it would be warmer."

Raphael sighed, and ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. "_Dios mio. _You're making this very difficult for me, Young One. Answer the question."

"Can I phone a friend?" Simon asked innocently, but regretted it immediately because Raphael threw the remaining Holy water on his face and chest, making his skin burn and smoke. The smell was sickening, but the pain was becoming unbearable. Simon didn't know how much longer he could stall before giving him what he wanted.

Which was what exactly? Why would he want to know if Clary was pregnant? What did it matter?

"Yeah." Simon said reluctantly. "She's pregnant."

Raphael's face was unreadable. Completely blank, but something burned in the back of his eyes that made Simon feel extremely wary. His dark eyes were on fire, alight with….something that Simon couldn't identify.

"You're free to go." He said in a clipped tone. "Untie him." He barked to his coven, and suddenly two gloved hands were removing his hands from their restraints. Simon twisted and looked down, curious as to what had been holding him.

He snorted. "Rosary beads? Clever."

Raphael smiled, an genuine smile, making him look several years younger. Making the overall creepiness factor skyrocket. A child leading an army of the undead. "They're stronger than they look." He said softly. His expression was wistful, and Simon was suddenly unsure if they were talking about the beads. Simon rubbed at his singed wrists absently.

"They're not as tough as people think they are."

"And yet they kept you from escaping."

Simon nodded, and Raphael turned to go. "This wont be the last time we speak, Daylighter." he said, standing in the doorway. His fleet of undead minions all stood, as if they were at attention.

"Oh, swell. What's next? Crucifixes?"

"If you're lucky."

And with that, Raphael disappeared through the doorway. Simon felt the heavy pressure of two hands on either side of his shoulders leading--more like yanking--him through a doorway on the opposite side of the room. Once that had quite literally thrown him outside, Simon got off the ground, and dusted himself off, looking extremely dignified. Knowing they were still watching, he stuck his chin up in the air, giving him a haughty, prince like appearance.

Then, like the prince he was, he gave them his middle finger.

He turned around, slightly proud of himself for getting in the last word--or appendage--but as he walked away for Hotel Dumort, he couldn't help feeling an impending sense of doom.

He couldn't help but feel that he had just _really_ screwed up.

***

"So, are we supposed to act surprised?" Clary asked Jace as they mounted the steps of the Institute, Jace with his light, quiet step, and Clary stomping like an angry elephant.

It wasn't her fault, with the baby, she weighed about 40 pounds more, and couldn't see her feet. Her belly was growing at such a speed, that it had surprised her doctors. She had been horrified at the concept of having a large baby, but Jace looked like he was having a mental debate at whether to pump his fist in the air or pat himself on the back. If he could have done it simultaneously, he would have, but seeing Clary's look, he had only allowed himself a small, manly nod at the doctor.

"No, Clary." he said with a chuckle. "This is a baby shower, not a surprise party."

Clary nodded. It didn't matter what it was, she was just excited to see all of her friends and family together. They saw each other frequently enough, but not in big group get-togethers like this. Well, not unless something went wrong, and there was an immediate need for a mass Shadowhunter meeting.

Jace put his hand on the door "I ask permiss-okay" he said as the door swung open practically when he placed his and upon it. Clary chuckled.

"You know, I doubt you even have to say anything."

"Probably not, but I like the continuity." He said smiling as they made their way to the elevators. They were the same gilded gold, tarnished but still beautiful with age. It reminded Clary of being in an expensive birdcage. They were quiet as the elevator began its slow climb to the top. It was a comfortable silence, Clary immediately searched for Jace's hand with hers. She found it, and her tiny hand was engulfed in his large warm palm. She sighed happily.

The elevator came to a stop with a screeching sound. Jace frowned, "they really need to get this fixed." He said, shaking his head slowly, closing the gate behind him. Clary heard a gentle meow, and spun around looking for Church. Instead, she was greeted by a gigantic black cat, with large, bored looking tawny eyes.

"Is that Chairman Meow?" Clary asked, stepping forward, and crouching--as close as she could get to a crouch more like a painful squat--and stroked the cat's soft, black fur. It's eyes rolled back in pleasure, and a purring started in it's chest.

"Magnus must be here." Jace said, bending next to her. He kissed her temple quickly before helping into a standing position. Chairman Meow let out an irritated sound before trotting away from them indignantly.

The party was in the downstairs living area. It was a large, grand room with lots of windows and lavish, comfortable furniture. Clary heard a gasp and looked up just in time to see Isabelle come flying at her, inky hair streaming behind her, like a dark comet. She stopped herself right before she tackled Clary, not wanting to hurt the baby. Giving her a gentle hug, Isabelle said "I'm so glad you came!" Then she _did _tackle Jace.

"Wow, Clary, you're huge." Said an awed voice.

"Thanks, Luke." Clary said, hugging him tightly. He looked pretty much the same--tall, lean, with glasses framing the kind glint in his blue eyes, but there was more grey in his hair then Clary remembered there being last time she saw him--which was not too long ago--and there were wrinkles on his face, like the creases of a map worn with use. He smiled at her and let her go.

"Hi, honey." Her mother said, also smiling. She hugged her too, and Jocelyn kissed her on the cheek. Clary then made rounds, saying hello to Robert and Maryse, then Alec, and Magnus. (Who was wearing one of the most outlandish outfits she had ever seen him in. It was a metallic corset, complete with black leather pants that had rhinestones embedded in them. Of course, the outfit was complete with a rainbow belt and his dark hair was styled in it's usual array of messy spikes. His teal lipstick, and gold glittered eyelids made him look very…Magnusy.) ,The party turned out to be more a reunion then a baby shower. It was nice to see everyone again, and Clary found herself easily settling back into her old self. Jace and Magnus had too, apparently.

"So, a boy, huh?" Magnus asked, smiling a little. Jace puffed his chest up proudly.

"Yes a boy." He nodded, beaming. He wrapped an arm around Clary, as if to showcase his handiwork. Clary snorted.

"I didn't know you had it in you." Magnus said, with an evil smile. Jace straightened.

"I'll have you know, I am rife with manliness." Jace said indignantly.

"Oh, you're rife with something." Magnus said, his lips curling around his suspiciously acid green drink. Alec elbowed him in the ribs, looking at the two of them like a dog watching meatball tennis.

"What do you know about manliness? You look like an inter-galactic pimp." Jace said, gesturing with his free hand at Magnus's ensemble.

"I look _fabulous_, you're just jealous that I have great taste."

Clary tuned them out with a happy sigh. It was good to be home.

***

Simon arrived two hours later, looking exhausted. He said a polite hello to everyone--carefully avoided the penetrating glare of Isabelle--and made a beeline for Jace. Thankfully he was alone for the moment, Clary was in the corner looking irritated and speaking sharply at Magnus., then Alec slapped his palm to his forehead, obviously frustrated. He wondered what that was about briefly before focusing on the matter at hand.

"Jace--we need to talk." Simon said urgently, and as quietly as possible, because he wanted no one to overhear that he was about to tell Jace what had happened at Hotel Dumort. Jace turned around, and frowned.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure. Why do you smell like apples?"

Jace grinned maniacally. "Magnus threw his Appletini on me because I called him a Sparkly Poofter."

"He threw his drink on you?"

"Yes."

"And I missed it?"

"Yes."

"Well, damn."

"Get to the point, bloodsucker."

"Right." Simon said launching into serious mode. "I um, _visited_ Hotel Dumort the other day, and Raphael asked me the strangest question…."

***

"I can't _believe _you did that Magnus." Clary hissed, her hand on her hip.

"He deserved it." He said, inspecting a sparkly fingernail. "Macho bastard."

_"Magnus!"_

"Oh alright, I'll send him an apology letter for Christmas or something."

Alec slapped his palm to his forehead.

***

Clary watched Simon and Jace whisper together, from her corner. Their faces looked extremely at ease, but Jace's shoulders were tense. Something was wrong, Clary could sense it. She strained her ears, furrowing her brows, but couldn't hear them, even with her Shadowhunter senses. Jace's eyes went wide for a moment, and his head spun to look at Clary. He tried to look away quickly, but she had already seen the look in them.

He was terrified.

She started to make her way towards them, setting down her drink, but was stopped by a strong hand on her arm.

"Don't." Was all Magnus said. "You don't want to know."

Clary's eyes widened as Jace's had, and she almost told him off, but she was surprised at the intense look in his eyes.

"Don't do it, Pumpkin." He repeated in a softer tone. Clary nodded, and threw a nervous look over her shoulder. They weren't talking anymore, Jace was headed towards her, his eyes were unreadable, but his warm smile was firmly in place.

Simon had disappeared.

Jace came over, and kissed her on the forehead, grabbing her hand tightly in his. So tightly it hurt.

_What just happened?_ Clary thought, returning his smile with an uncertain one of her own. She would interrogate him later.

The pressure from his hand never decreased. Her fingers grew numb.

***

As far as Isabelle Lightwood was concerned, if there was a problem, there was sure to be a man around creating it.

Simon Lewis was a problem.

The stupid man-boy-thing-whatever the hell he was-was a thorn in her side.

And in her heart.

She wasn't sure if this was what it was like to be in love, but if this heart wrenching, gut twisting, dizzying feeling was love, then she wanted nothing to do with it. She had told herself that she wanted nothing to do with it. That she was too strong, and independent for love. But that was a lie. She _did_ want it. Desperately. And she was not used to not getting whatever she wanted.

When she found the thing that she did want, she would take it by force with her whip, or by persuasion, using her looks and charm. There was nothing she couldn't have. Nothing.

Except she couldn't have Simon.

She huffed angrily as she shoved the leftover sandwiches into bags. She was muttering to herself angrily, when she looked up to see--of all people-- The Thorn looking at her curiously. He still looked young, but when you looked in his dark eyes, they were ancient, making him appear much older then he was physically.

"Hello, Simon." She muttered, shoving the sandwich in the bag violently.

"You must really hate turkey." He said, watching with amused eyes. Isabelle didn't say anything. "Great party," he continued, watching her decapitate the poor cupcakes with Tupperware. "Magnus threw his drink on Jace, and Luke drank too much, he'd gotten into the second verse of 'Wind beneath my Wings' before Jocelyn dragged him home."

Isabelle stayed silent.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have enviable conversational skills?" Simon asked watching her yank apart and uneaten chicken with her hands. He cringed a little as he heard the socket snap with a sickening crunch. This did it. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch, like she was fighting a smile.

"You're such a jerk." She mumbled, finally looking at him in the eye. She threw a bone at him that he neatly dodged.

He chuckled, and grabbed the leg of the chicken from her hand. "Let me help you." He said softly. Their fingers touched for a moment, his fingers were so cold, she almost felt as if she had been burned. Neither of them pulled away.

"Isab-"

"Don't" She said stiffly. "Don't start." She heard him sigh in frustration.

"Why not?" He demanded. "What if I want to start?"

Now Isabelle got mad. "Because I said so, that's why!" She almost yelled.

"And that was another Solid Reasoning Moment with Isabelle, folks!" Simon rebutted, looking angry.

"By the Angel, Simon…." She lost her steam, suddenly feeling exhausted. She didn't want to fight this battle tonight. "You _know_ why this" --she gestured between the two of them--"won't work."

He came around the counter, and quickly, almost roughly grabbed her hands. "Why not?" He whispered.

"You're _sixteen_, Simon. I'm almost thirty."

"I like older women."

"Not this old." She said with a sigh. He hadn't reached his full height, or ever would, but still, he was taller then her. She took a step forward, they were close now, she could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her own.

"Magnus isn't aging." Simon said eagerly. "If it doesn't matter to Alec then why….?"

"This is different." Isabelle said quickly.

"How is it different?" Simon asked, taking a step back as if she had pushed him away. "Is it because I'm…dead?"

"Well it certainly doesn't help." She said, smiling a little.

Simon rolled his eyes. "Don't be coquettish. It won't work on me. I'm immune."

"No man is immune." Isabelle said, her smile fading. She looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry Simon. I know I send out mixed signals but-"

"_Mixed signals?_" Simon said incredulously. "No, you blend your signals to smithereens."

"I'm sorry." She repeated. She didn't look up, but she knew he has closed the gap between them.

"I'm going to kiss you now." Simon said, his voice shaky.

"Okay." Isabelle said, feeling dizzy.

"And then I'm going to leave. I wont come back."

"Okay." She repeated.

And then his lips were on hers. And in that wonderful, agonizing, blissfully painful moment, she knew that she was in love. That she had been all along. His lips were cold, but not reluctant. A shot of fire seared up her spine, making every nerve ending alive, sparking with energy. Her hands entangled themselves in his hair, and the world melted away. All there was, all there ever had been was Simon. Nothing else mattered. Not their ages, not that it would never work between the two of them, not that one of her parents would walk in on them and see their perfect daughter sucking face with a criminally young Downworlder.

Simon was the thing tying her to the ground, keeping her from floating away.

And then he was gone. He didn't say anything, she didn't even open her eyes, because she knew she would see only an empty kitchen. She knew by now, he was probably outside of the Institute.

And she was glad.

_It wouldn't work anyway,_ she told herself for the millionth time.

***

"So are you going to tell me what all of the secrecy was about?"

"What secrecy?"

Clary sighed. Despite the fact the she was practically bursting with curiosty, she had refrained from asking Jace any questions. She thought that she would have a seizure from the effort on the E-train home.

"Don't lie to me Jace. I _know_ something was going on when Simon came and talked to you." She said, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He was shirtless--a fact that did _not_ go unnoticed by Clary--and was trying to rid his face of the left over Appletini. She could see the white-silver scars that adorned his skin, looking almost like flesh colored lace. Jace was quiet for a moment.

"Simon just noticed some unusual activity in Rafael's clan. It was no big deal." He said, with a reassuring smile. Clary felt a pang of jealousy. Simon had come straight to him, he barely even said hello to her. And he was telling Jace about random vampire activity.

"But why was he being all secretive about it? That's something that everyone could have heard." Clary said, crossing her arms over chest as Jace turned out the light in the bathroom. He gently placed his hands on either side of Clary's face, and looked into her eyes directly. Clary bit her lip.

"He just didn't want anyone to worry about it during the party, so he told me, so that I could spread it around at the appropriate time." He softly kissed her lips. He tasted like toothpaste, and Jace.

"That was all?"

He drew her to him. And to her surprise, he picked her up, like a bride and carried her to the bed, but he didn't place her down just yet.

"Oh my God, I'm a cow." Clary said, looking horrified. Her questions were completely forgotten for the moment.

"What?" Jace asked, clearly confused.

"The veins are bulging in your neck. You can barely lift me. You're part angel, practically indestructible, and your arms are starting to shake. Hence the cow." Clary pointed to her stomach.

"My arms are not shaking" Jace said laughing slightly. "I could hold you like this forever."

Clary rolled her eyes. "No you couldn't. In about two minutes, your heart would give out from the strain, and then what would people say? 'Oh, there's poor Jace Wayland's widow, I hear he gave himself a stroke trying to carry his whale of a wife to the bed.' Ah, there it is again." She said, poking the vein.

Jace dropped her on the bed unceremoniously. "Don't touch my vein." He said, absently rubbing at his neck. _"And you are not a cow, for the millionth time, woman."  
_

"Moo."

"That's it!" Jace said, hopping on the bed next to her. "Every time you call yourself a cow I'm going to--"

"Oh! Jace!"

"Don't interrupt me, I'm scolding you."

"Shut up, Jace, the baby--Max is kicking." She grabbed his hand and put it on her stomach, where she could feel a little baby foot pump against her ribs. It didn't hurt, really more like being stretched from the inside. Jace's golden eyes were wide with excitement.

"I don't think he likes it when you yell at me." Clary said, feeling a little winded.

"Never again." Jace said, kissing her firmly on the lips. "Never, never again. And by never, I mean tonight." Clary was beginning to tear up. The baby had never kicked before. She felt like she had a miracle inside of her body. "I love you so much." Jace whispered, alternating between kissing her, and keeping his ear pressed to her stomach, as if he could hear the baby whisper secrets from her uterus.

"Are you talking to me or the baby?"

"You. The Baby. Both of you." He said, smiling radiantly. "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you more." Clary said. "I cant speak for the baby, though." Clary gasped as the baby kicked again.

"Ha! He loves me! I knew it!"

"Would you like a round of applause?" Clary asked, rolling her eyes. Jace was laughing, and soon Clary joined in.

Clary put one hand on Jace's face. She smiled at him, and he reached up to kiss her softly, a small smile on his lips. And it didn't matter that she felt he was hiding something. It didn't matter that most of the time their lives were filled with death and peril.

It didn't matter because when Jace smiled at her like that, she was home.

* * *

**A/N: **Easter Bunny wants reviews. And if he doesn't get them, then he'll tell Santa that you have been bad and don't deserve gifts.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

....but really, review please?


	5. Secrets

**A/N: **Ok guys, sorry for the wait. School is winding down, and the professors are loading us poor students with homework. Two things guys:

1: Check out Evil Black Poppies MI forum Mortal Instruments Awards Best Fanfiction. She's having a contest for April/May and participation would be greatly appreciated. Or just check out her profile for a link to the website. We will break out the cookies if needed. Just sayin.

2. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. **THE BEST.**_ **THE ABSOLUTE FREAKING BEST.**_ I mean, 4 chapters and 95 reviews? 95? My brain is bleeding. I'm insanely happy, and THIS is why we are the best fandom out there, because we support and reveiw. You. Are. Awesome. Never. Change.

OK--I'll shut up now. I'm not especially happy with this chapter...I fill like it's one of those filler ones that aren't exactly great, but are essential to the story. So bear with me, kay?

* * *

The air was oddly chilly for a summer night, making him draw his dark cloak tighter to his chest, as if he could keep the heat from seeping out of him like water through cotton. His usual flamboyant style had been tamed in an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible. He melted through the late night crowd, not gaining the blatant stares that he usually did. To be completely frank, he missed it. He loved seeing the awed look on mundanes faces' as he passed, as if they had been suddenly blinded by the sun, but were too curious to look away. But tonight, he needed to be completely unnoticeable, invisible. One of the millions that lived in the populous city.

For once, he wanted no one to remember him.

Of course, a glamour would have helped him in his quest, but he wasn't sure if he could summon one if he tried. This could be quite an annoyance if one was a warlock with seemingly endless reserves of magical power. His magic had been waning as of late, and now... all he knew was that he had to expel massive amounts of energy--magical and otherwise--to eek out the smallest of spells. He had a vague idea of what was happening, he'd seen it before in others of his kind. Typically it ended in death he thought cheerfully, with a roll of his eyes. He shook his head lightly, trying to rid his mind of those thoughts like a dog shaking water out of its ears.

Despite his best efforts at blending in, he still exuded a sort of elegance about him. No matter how hard he tried, heads still turned to watch him as he passed. Perhaps it was that he'd been walking for several hundred decades, most of them in another time when the way that a man carried himself was his worth. Gentleman were expected to stand straight, and arrogantly, not in the characteristic slouch of today's children.

He frowned, and stopped at the end of the block. This particular street was darker then most, the streetlamp above him had been shattered, and he could hear the crunch of the glass under his feet as he walked. Taking the little strip of paper out of his pocket he stared at the numbers. He had the right address. He gently cleared his throat, feeling slightly nervous. Normally, this kind of thing wouldn't frighten him, but considering his magical…anomalies lately, he felt as unprotected as a woman on the street.

The building was old, and decaying, a squat brick apartment that was only about three stories high. The street around him smelled like old cigarettes and cat pee. Two hooligans were skulking around in the back, not even making an attempt to keep themselves quiet. At least they could have the decency to not alert their neighbors when they were committing a crime. God, what a neighborhood.

Shoving his hands back in his pockets, he gave a resigned sigh. _A crypt. Typical. _He thought slightly bitterly. He walked up to the steel door and knocked forcefully. He waited a few moments before hearing several clinking sounds on the other side of the door.

"Magnus?" A surprised Simon asked. "What the hell are you doing here?"

***

"So." Magnus said, leaning against the doorframe, looking casual. "Love what you've done with the place." The inside was as sparse, and decrepit looking on the inside as it was on the outside. With dingy yellow walls, that looked like they had once been white, but were now corroded with cigarette smoke and age. The paint was peeling away in large chips. The furniture was dark, and broken. And Simon was looking really pissed off.

"Well you know what they say, location, location, location."

"Yes, how convenient it must be to be so near a wide variety of crack houses."

"Its cheap. And not too far away from Central Park."

"What's in Central Park?" Magnus asked, stalling for time. Shuffling his feet into the room. It was almost as cold in there as it was outside. Apparently it didn't bother Simon.

"I like to eat the duckies. Why are you here, Magnus?"

"Wow. Someone's grouchy. Did I wake you up or something?" He asked sarcastically, knowing that Simon didn't sleep at night.

"Yes."

"Really?" Magnus was thrown for an instant.

"No, I'm screwing with you. _Why are you here Magnus?_" Simon replied, irritated.

He'd just been getting ready to go hunt. He was thirsty, and irritable and didn't like Magnus looking at his meager apartment like it was something disgusting on his shoe. He'd picked this place _because _he was close to the park. Not only was there small game, but occasionally he would come across someone committing a crime that he could prevent. Maybe he could save someone even if he couldn't save himself.

The kiss with Isabelle had been both the best and worst moment of his life. He'd gotten to kiss the woman of his dreams-feel her soft lips against his, touch her inky black hair-but it wasn't enough. _He _wasn't enough for her, she didn't want him, and that opened a gaping hole in his chest. He felt like someone had scooped his insides out. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Suppressing a sigh, he brought himself back to the present. Magnus was looking at a large crack in the wall that was damp around the edges. His dignified nose was crinkled in distaste.

"I'd ask you if you want something to drink, but I don't know if you prefer type A or O." Simon said, grinding his teeth into a fine powder. Magnus smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud popping noise, like a firecracker.

"Was that a gunshot?" He asked, sounding slightly panicked.

"No." Simon replied. _Yes, actually it was, but you already look like a cat in water, so I won't freak you out more._ Simon thought, crossing the room to close the curtains. But before he could get them closed completely, Magnus was at his side, peering out the window.

"Is that man peeing on your doorstep?" Simon sighed.

"Yes. He does that sometimes. I've affectionately named him Pee Guy" Magnus nodded, his eyebrows raised.

"I've a question for you, vampire." He said, still watching the drunken man stumble around in the dark. He finally turned to look at him. "You've recently had discussions with the Night Children, correct?"Simon nodded once."And they wanted to know about Clary's child?"

"Yes." Simon replied, confused and slightly guilty. Magnus frowned and slowly shook his head.

"I don't understand." He said, mostly to himself. Simon almost put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but felt awkward around the warlock. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Surprisingly, that does." Magnus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't know how to tell you this, but...something is happening to me. Something that even I can't fully begin to comprehend. "

"Okay." Simon said, a creepy sense of foreboding was crawling up his spine in cold scratches.

"Someone is….draining my power. Sucking it out of me like some malignant leech." Magnus looked Simon in the eyes, Simon had one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Oh, no offence." He said as an after rolled his eyes.

"None taken. What do you mean, 'draining your power?' " Simon asked, changing his expression to one of concern.

Magnus rubbed his temples, and sat down on Simon's mangy couch. Then he sprang back up as if he'd sat on a pan of hot coals. "This is Versace, I'm not taking any chances." He mumbled, eyeing the frayed fabric suspiciously. Tearing his eyes away, he looked at the vampire. "Magic is like….a network of sorts."

"A network?"

"Well you're a nerd, I figured you would understand that term."

"I'll take that as a compliment. "

Magnus ignored this. "As long as there have been warlocks, there has been magic. And vice versa. Magic is elemental, wild in a sense, it is simply too much for a mortal human to master. That's why the runes--which are so full of the most basic form of magic--burn normal humans without Shadowhunter blood, turning them into Forsaken. Without some element of supernatural--holy or otherwise--in our veins, its is impossible to hold the magic. Warlocks were a race created to dominate this magic. Bend it to our wills. So in this sense, all warlocks are connected. A network."

"A network?"

"My god, is there an exceptionally stupid parrot in here?"

Simon sighed.

"Magic is something immense and powerful. No one knows how powerful exactly, I mean we all saw Valentine do things that we couldn't even imagine. All warlocks or magic users can tap into this vast magic, it's not something that we store in our bodies, it's something that we borrow. But our use of it is limited, we can use it for only so long, before draining our bodies of the power, and once we've done that, were both physically and meta-physically exhausted. Magic is not free. It always has a price. Do you remember when Valentine set up the wards on the ship on the East River?"

"You mean when Clary blew the ship apart?"

"Yes."

"I remember." He said. The image of Clary scrambling to draw the rune was burned into his mind as if someone had put it there with a red-hot poker.

"When Valentine was setting the wards up--it messed up the Magical Wavelengths. By the end of the night, I was so exhausted I nearly passed out, I had to borrow Alec's…." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Alec's what?"

"Shut up Simon. My point is I can _feel _when someone is using magic around me. Especially dark magic. That's why warlocks don't live around each other, if were in too close a vicinity, it screws up the magic. Simple spells get interfered with. The Magical Wavelengths go haywire."

"Still not getting the point, Magnus."

"Hold your crucifix, I'm not done yet. Now warlocks, _especially_ warlocks that use dark spells can steal or hijack the magic. Its an unspoken rule that we just don't do that to one another to each other. Because a warlock with too much magic is dangerous. It can do to us what rune marks have done to the Forsaken, it corrupts, turns us into something crazy. Evil. If one person has a capital on magic, the whole world would turn to chaos."

"But having one person to rule all the magic doesn't sound so bad. I mean, if only one person held the magic, then there would be less chances of….rogue warlocks, right?" Simon felt a little rediculous.

"Yes. Because dictatorships have worked so well in the past."

"Point taken."

"If one person has control of the magic, he controls the world." Magnus sighed, and rubbed his temples again. "I think there is a warlock that is taking more then his fair share of the power, therefore, he's draining everyone's power, mostly mine however, because I am closest."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because…I'm having trouble performing it."Simon raised an eyebrow, and smirked.

"You know there's a little blue pill-"

"Grow up, Simon. You know what I mean." For a moment, Simon was hurt. He wished he _could _grow up.

"Why are you coming to me with this?" Magnus looked uncomfortable for a second.

"Because us Downworlders have to stick together. I was wondering if you heard anything from the Night Children about a power hungry warlock...? "

"No, I'm sorry." And he _was _sorry, to his surprise. "Shouldn't we go to the Institute with this…?"

"No!" Magnus almost yelled. "They shouldn't concern themselves with this."

"You mean _Alec_ shouldn't concern himself with this." Magnus was silent, his eyes on the floor. Simon crossed his arms, knowing he had hit his mark.

"Just keep this to yourself for now." Magnus said, looking up to meet Simon's eyes. Simon was surprised with what he saw, a mixture of pleading and anxiety. Simon had his one vulnerable spot. "Please." Magnus almost whispered. "I don't want Alec to worry. I can handle this myself." Simon felt a pang in his chest--he wished someone loved him that intensely. But at the same time, he didn't want to keep secrets, especially from the Institute, and ultimately the Clave. But, being a creature of the night, he himself was a secret. The premise of his existence was a secret. It was fitting that he lived his life in half-truths.

"Alright." He found himself saying. "I won't tell anyone. I'll keep your secret for now, but one more thing. Earlier, you asked me why Raphael's coven had asked me about Clary. Why was that?"

"I don't know yet. But lately I can feel dark--all magic is dark, but some more then others--being used. And it's unnatural for vampires to care about Shadowhunter's lives. It just struck me as unusual for them to be inquiring about it at all."

"Do you think that this dark magic has something to do with the arrival of Clary and Jace's child?" Magnus rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. One of his many rings caught the light, momentarily blinding him.

"Yes." Magnus said finally. "I think it has something to do with the child." Simon couldn't suppress the small gasp of surprise emerging from his lips.

"Do you think she's in danger?"

"I don't know." He replied, "not yet." Simon was silent, but his thoughts were far from calm. He was paralyzed with fear for Clary. For her child. Magnus spoke. "I'd appreciate it if you would keep an ear out for anything that sounds suspicious." Simon nodded, regretting his vow not to say anything.

"Will do." Magnus turned to leave, and took a few steps toward the door. He stopped, a hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks, Simon." He said, choking on the worlds only slightly.

"You're welcome Magnus." And with that the warlock was gone, leaving a small traces of glitter where he had stood.

***

It was at three in the morning that Clary had the dream.

Half awake, and half in a dream like trance she rose from her bed. She hardly felt the cold floor under her feet as she made her way to the easel that served as her artists corner.

Not entirely coherent, she flipped the large sketchpad back several pages, getting one that was pure. White and blank.

With her thumb and index finger, she picked up a piece of the artists charcoal she used and began to draw the image in long, angry strokes. It came to her slowly, like in the old days, when she had to concentrate on removing the glamour from things, but the image was burned into her brain with a white-hot fury. Her fingers whipped around on the page, almost inhuman in their speed. The pace at which she was moving would have made drawing difficult for DaVinci, but her fingers moved with a grace and finesse, and certainly something unnatural.

The sharp planes an angles were intimidating, intrusive. The shadows that so heavily surrounded them only enhanced the sharp contrasts. Clary's hands begun to shake, smearing the heavy charcoal slightly. It was beginning to come together now. A wing. Another wing. A manacle.

The night in the Wayland Manor would never leave her, but never had she had such vivid dreams about it. Never.

She must have made too much noise, because suddenly there was a concerned "Clary?" from behind her. She didn't have to turn to know what he would look like. Angelic blonde hair mussed from sleep. His white t-shirt crinkled.

Normally it would have made her smile, but at the moment, she had to finish the drawing. It was as if she had lost of her control. Something had taken possession of her body, the way her fingers moved were familiar, but not her own. It was her gentle hand that was beginning to cramp with the ferociousness of her movements. Her fingernails that were starting to bleed from the pressure. But it was not her intent driving these actions. But she was helpless to stop the same she was not afraid, she did not sense danger. However giving up possession of her body was still unnerving.

Jace had fallen silent behind her, watching her work, with a concerned expression. Her body was blocking most of the drawing, but Jace could see the edges. They were dark, cast into shadow. It left him feeling inexplicably distraught. He watched her arm fly across the paper in long arcs, nearly tearing the sheet in two several times. Her fingertips were black from the charcoal, her chest was heaving from the effort.

And as if something had literally jerked her hand away from the sketchpad, she stopped.

"Jace." She said, not turning to face him, "can you get my Stele?" Without saying a thing, he left the room, entered their bedroom, and grabbed it out of the nightstand, confused at what was happening. When he returned, Clary was standing away from the drawing. Jace _knew _that face. It haunted his dreams on occasion. He nearly dropped the Stele.

In the picture, the angel Ithuriel, was looking as he had in his last moments on earth. Chained to the wall, his eyes hollowed pits, his bones jutting out under nearly transparent skin. He was covered in dried blood and grime. Yet the angel was still inhumanely beautiful, but horrifying at the same time."What's going on here, Clary?" Jace demanded.

Clary was leaning against the wall next to it, looking dazed. She didn't answer, just grabbed for the tool, and went back to the sketchpad. She placed the tip of the Stele against the paper, and closed her eyes, letting the rune come to her. Without opening her eyes, the tip of the Stele scratched against the paper, smearing the charcoal. After a moment, she felt the rune was complete, and stepped away from the easel. The runes glowed against the paper, a warm, golden color against the pale whiteness. Clary was concerned for a moment that the paper might catch fire. But then, as the marks began to fade, Ithuriel turned his head and hollowed eyes toward them. His wings ruffled, like a bird in a breeze. He was looking directly at them.

"There is trouble." The angel said. His voice was like wind chimes, and thunder. Beautiful, yet ominous and terrifying. Jace and Clary only gaped at the talking paper.

"Holy shit." Jace said, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Clary agreed silently.

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**A/N: **REVIEW AND I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER!


	6. Villicus Ortus

**A/N: **Hey! I know it's been awhile, but College+studying+life=BUSY. I just wanna get my english degree already! Sheesh. So a few things before we begin:

**I AM LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO MAKE ME BANNERS BECAUSE....I WANT SOME FOR THIS STORY! **

So, if you're intrested, tell me in your review, or send me a message via livejournal my name there is lauren_wooley. It would be appreciated!

Also, for those of you who've expressed intrest, **I am writing a novel and such.** I felt like that needed bolding, and also if you're intrested, ill send you a summary or something. This chapter was a difficult one, but then again, all of them seem that way, so I'll just shut up and let you get on with the reading. We meet our villian finally! :D

Guys. 152 reviews. 152. For 5 chapters! At this rate, I feel like I might reach 1,000! AHH! What a thought!

Ok, I'm done now, no really.

* * *

"_There is trouble." The angel said. His voice was like wind chimes, and thunder. Beautiful, yet ominous and terrifying. Jace and Clary only gaped at the talking paper. _

_"Holy shit." Jace said, his eyes wide with disbelief._

_Clary agreed silently._

_***_

The room was silent except for the slight ruffling of the angel's wings.

"Holy shit." Jace repeated.

Clary elbowed him hard in the ribs. The angel said nothing, only quirked his head to the left like a confused dog. Clary could feel his eyes on them, though no eye was discernable through the dark pits. Clary thought that his sight must have gone long ago, but he must have some other inhuman sense that replaced it.

"Ithuriel…we thought….I mean…you're, well, _dead._" Clary said elegantly.

"Angels do not die like you mortals, we are reborn above, but different from our former selves. We are no longer wholly angel."

"Is that why you are able to….present yourself to us now?"

"Yes."

Clary nodded, not knowing what to say. Her brain was scrambling to make sense of what just happened, but seemed to be working in slow motion. Her thoughts weren't especially clear, for a moment she wondered if she should offer him a refreshment. The atmosphere inside the apartment had changed. She could no longer hear the sounds on the street, the room itself had lost it's chilly edge. Her mind flashed back to the night that they had found Ithuriel, imprisoned in her father's makeshift dungeon of mythical creatures.

"What do you mean, 'there is trouble?'" Jace said in a surprisingly calm voice. His shoulders were tense, however. She noticed that his arm had somehow drifted protectively around her shoulders. She hadn't even seen him do it.

"Trouble." The angel repeated, saying no more.

"Care to elaborate?" Jace said, his tone slightly quipped. Clary elbowed him again.

"I cannot reveal all."

"Can you reveal _some?" _

"What he means," Clary said, feeling the need to jump in, "is that, well, it's not everyday that you have an angel communicate to you through drawings." Jace snorted in agreement. As if he was saying "You think?"

Ithuriel ruffled his wings, his shackles clattered like Marley's ghost. It was extremely eerie. His head shifted more towards Clary--he was addressing her. Or, it appeared that way, at least.

"Your children are in peril."Clary's insides lurched, and she put one hand on her swollen belly. The image of a bloodied Jace from her dream suddenly burst into her mind.

"P-peril?" She stammered, "what do you mean peril?" Jace's hand was almost unbearably tight on her arm. It would leave bruises. She inexplicably felt the need to pull away from him, but resisted.

"I cannot say." Ithuriel repeated.

Jace exhaled sharply, "Is there _anything _that you can tell us?" He asked, his voice icy.

Ithuriel ruffled his wings, a sign of irritation, Clary guessed.

"I have been sent to give you a message from above."

"Which is?" Clary asked, bewildered.

"Do not let it fall into the wrong hands. Else you will fall."

"That sounds more like a threat." Jace said, his brows furrowed.

"Warning sounds better." Ithuriel replied.

"Of course." Jace said, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. "Is there anything else you'd like to confuse us about?"

The angel was silent for a moment, becoming completely still. Not a feather ruffled. Clary thought that he was finished giving his message and the drawing had gone back to being inanimate. Just as she was about to say something, Ithuriel opened his mouth.

"Many millennia ago, a prophecy was made." He thundered, in his ominous voice, making the hair on the back of Clary's neck stand on end. Jace's hands were icy and slick against her arm. The tenor of the room was frightening. Even the shackles seemed to make terrified little _clinking_ sounds. "The spawn of the Graced will bear powers of the angels themselves. To create and destroy will be theirs."

"Are we the Graced?" Clary asked, feeling more confused by the moment. Ithuriel nodded once.

"You both have the powers of the angels, do you not?" It was a rhetorical question. "Do not let this power fall into the wrong hands. It would be the end." Ithuriel repeated.

"The end of what?" Jace asked, his voice had lost the icy edge. Something cold and desperate had gripped his insides, making it difficult to breathe. Every beat of his heart squeezed painfully beneath his ribcage. His breath hitched on the last word.

"Life as you know it."And then the most profound silence that either Jace or Clary had ever heard descended upon them in a cold swoop. After a prolonged moment, Ithuriel ruffled his birdlike wings, once more, as if moving a final time, before he was forced into an eternity of stillness. The chains rattled, snapping Clary out of her reverie. An audible hum reverberated from the paper.

"Ithur-" but the golden glow of the runes was back, looking white hot against the paper.

"Take heed, humans." He said, then the paper was still, as it had been before.

"Holy shit." Clary said breathlessly.

Jace nodded.

***

"Is it done?"

"Yes, master. The summoning will begin shortly."

"Good. We cannot afford any more….inconsistencies, Calvin."

"I've taken all the precautions, master."

The great warlock eyed his servant with disdain. The man was tall, but slumped over with fear and the weight of his evil deeds. His long, reedy arms followed long, thin fingers that grazed his knees. His head was bald, and shiny, coved in a slick of oil and sweat. His clothes were in tatters. The warlock felt a wave of disgust towards the man. That's how they all were, seeking power that they would never gain. A taste of true freedom, that would never grace their tongues.

"Once we summon it, we must collect the Ichor as quickly as possible, then from there, see if we can convince it to stay."

"How shall we do that, master? Even if we could control it there's not telling what…"

"SILENCE!" The warlock shouted. "There is a specific circle of hell for doubters. If you'd prefer, I could banish you there, now." Shots of crimson electricity crackled between his fingertips, charging the already heavy air. The warlock could hear Calvin's heart speed increase tenfold. He smiled revealing white, pointed teeth. His smile was icy, cold, inhuman. His startlingly green eyes were only emphasized by the vertical pupils. He looked like a cat that had just cornered a mouse.

"N-no, my-my Liege. I do not doubt," Calvin stuttered, tugging at the corner of his ratty shirt. His eyes were glued to the dusty floor, tracing the patterns where the boot prints had created a trail.

"Wonderful!" The warlock clapped his hands together, making Calvin flinch. The warlock showed no response to this, but smiled inwardly. It made him feel powerful to have the possession of fear over others. And ultimately, that's what things came down to. , he would possess all of the magical resources in the Tri-state area. Then after that, the world. It didn't seem so daunting if he took it in baby steps.

Calvin led the way into the ceremonial room. The warlock could smell the fresh lamb's blood on the floor. In the middle of the room, a large circle was painted, complete with star in the middle. Ceremonial candles were placed on each point, everything was ready for the ritual.

In the corner, a large, and old book was placed carefully on a stand. Calvin began to read the demon language, sounding like a pit of angry snakes. The circle began to smoke, and hiss, the curling rings of smoke drifted to the roof, like demonic whispers in the wind. Calvin drew a damp handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead, not breaking the rhythm of the incantation. His breath was coming out in large puffs. As Calvin approached the end of the spell, flames erupted from the circle, bringing with it the smell of brimstone. He had to shout over the flames, to be heard. They licked their way up to the ceiling. Consuming, but not destroying, the hellfire would burn to the touch, but not harm the building.

The warlock was circling the ring of fire, his lithe steps akin to a dancers. His jaw was set, and his brow furrowed, mentally willing the demon to rise. If it was possible, his eyes would have been burning holes into the fire. After an excruciatingly long minute, the warlock could hear Calvin fall to the floor out of exhaustion. It didn't matter if he died now, the spell was complete. As suddenly as the flames had begun, they stopped. The warlock smiled again, cruel and twisted.

In the middle of the pentagram lay a small, human shaped form, the frame was light, but strong looking. It was framed with baby soft pale hair, and wide, dark of his hands was missing. The warlock found it difficult not to show his excitement.

"Jonathan, how marvelous to see you again."

The demon child locked his dark eyes on the warlocks cat-like ones. He snarled.

"What the hell is going on, Avi? Where is she?" He demanded. The warlock couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Want to rule the world, kid?"

***

"But that still doesn't explain what he meant by 'don't let it fall into the wrong hands.'" Jace said rubbing his temples. They were sitting at the table, a cup of relaxing tea in front of each. It had been stopped steaming an hour ago. Clary reached out and grabbed her husband's hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He looked up at him, his golden curls falling into his eyes. There were dark circles there that hadn't been yesterday. Her other hand traced them with her fingertips. He closed his eyes and sighed into her touch, kissing her wrist and palm.

"You know how much I love you, don't you?" He asked, his voice was raw and vulnerable. In the dark room Clary was strongly reminded of how he looked when he was younger, how tortured he was. "I could do anything, Clary. I can jump 30 feet into the air, I can carry ten times the amount that a normal Shadowhunter could. I'm practically indestructible."

"My, we are humble, arent we?" Clary said laughing slightly. Jace frowned, and pulled her onto his lap. Even when she was sitting there, she was still shorter then him. He tilted her face up to his.

"But the one thing that would deliver the fatal blow to me," he said as if Clary had never spoken, "the one thing would make the world cease to exist, would be if I lost you." His eyes were shining, and Clary gently put her hands on either side of his face, and drew him closer. "Either of you." He sighed into her hair, moving one of his hands on her belly.

"I know." Clary mumbled into his shoulder. He smelled like soap, and Jace. "I know." She said drew her away from him, and held her at arms length.

"I swear on the Angel, I will find whatever threat is out there, and I will destroy it." He said, his eyes fierce. He face took on a lion like quality. If Clary hadn't known bettter, she would have been intimidated by the fierceness.

"No." She said, smiling slightly. _"We're _going to seek out this threat, and destroy it. Together." She said, narrowing her eyes in challenge, daring him to disagree. Something was nagging her in the back of her brain, why had she felt the urge t resist him earlier? To have him protect held her strong gaze for a moment, then softened his, sighing a little. Clary could have sworn that she hear him curse lightly.

"Yes." He said, looking like he was trying not to roll his eyes. "Together." Clary smiled, and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaving a trail of kisses on it. She could feel him freeze again under her touch, she drew away quickly, frowning.

"Jace, what is it? What's wrong?"He looked glazed over, then looked at her with wide eyes and started slightly, as if just realizing that she was there.

"Jace, what is it? You're scaring me."

"Clary…..did Ithuriel say…" He trailed off.

Clary fought the urge to choke him.

"Did he say _children?_"

* * *

**A/N: **I know it was kind of short, but the next one will be longer! She's giving it all she's got!

REVIEWS ARE LIKE CRACK....except you dont wake up with strange people in your bed.....


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